break of dawn, we were roaming wasted in darkness
by prouvaires
Summary: -they hide it well, in the end.- PercyThalia.


**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Don't sue.

break of dawn, we were roaming wasted in darkness  
_this is a town with no history. welcome to mystery._**  
**

--

She falls silently. It's this knack she's always had, like being able to sneak around like a shadow or always beat Luke in a sword fight. And that kind of bugs her.

Because her whole life (well, the parts where she wasn't a tree) it's been _LukeLukeLuke _and she's never really known any different.

But now she's back at Camp Half-Blood and she's sitting by the fire and she can see Percy through the flickering flames. He looks so _old _and _tired _and she realises with a start that he must be older than her now. She considers briefly how odd that is: she's always been the oldest and used it fully to her advantage.

But now he's staring broodingly into the fire, his brows drawn over his disturbed green eyes, broad shoulders hunched against whatever is troubling him.

She rises elegantly, her bow strapped in its usual place across her back, and crosses the space towards him, the heat of the flames intense against the side of her face.

"Hey," she says, sliding easily onto the bench opposite him. He jumps slightly and shoots her a glare.

"What do you want?"

She rests her elbows on the table and leans her chin on her hand, studying him for a moment.

"Nice to see you too, Percy. How's things?"

His expression smoothes over and he sighs apologetically. "I'm sorry – I've got a lot of things on my mind."

"Undoubtedly," she drawls, deadpan, twirling a strand of unruly hair around her forefinger. "What with being completely free of saving-the-world type responsibilities; I can imagine you must be absolutely up to your eyeballs with stuff to worry about."

"Haha," he replies sarcastically, twining his fingers together and resting them on the table in front of him. "Really, though, what do you want?"

She sighs and shrugs. "I guess I thought you looked lonely. And I figured there was no point both of us sitting like sad little loners at our own tables whilst everyone else had fun conversations. So I came over. No need to thank me."

"This is supposed to be a fun conversation?" he inquires with a somewhat pained expression, gazing at her pleadingly. She smirks.

"Yeah, so suck it up, Jackson."

"I liked you better as a tree," he tells her with a groan, dropping his head down onto his arms. "Can't you go bother your little virgin band of sisterhood, or whatever you are?"

Thalia rolls her eyes. "Gods, Seaweed Brain, you are such a drama queen."

He just responds with grunt, still hiding his face. She pokes him hard in the shoulder and ignores his insult.

"You are _such _a teenage boy," she informs him acerbically. "I remember why I enjoyed being the older one now."

"I'm older now?" he asks, his face suddenly reappearing with a smug grin written all over it. "How wonderful!"

"Don't rub it in," she warns him, fingering the edge of her bow. "If I'm not mistaken, you are still vastly inferior in all other areas."

"Like what?" he challenges, one eyebrow raised, and she curses mentally because that is the one thing she has never been able to do.

"Well, let's see," she says, faking thoughtfulness, one finger tapping against her bottom lip. His eyes follow its movement seemingly of their own accord, and her lips twitch upwards slightly before she regains her usual blank expression. "I can whip your ass in archery any day."

"Gods, hit me where it hurts – my _shooting _abilities," he teases, giving her that _look _she's missed against all her better instincts.

"And I'm smarter and taller and better-looking and, of course, could grind you into the dirt in a sword-fight."

Suddenly his hand locks around her wrist and she's being dragged to her feet before she can quite grasp hold of the situation.

"What are you doing, you stupid little – "

"Hey, Annabeth!" he calls over the crackle of the flames, and the girl wanders over to them from the Athena table.

"What is it, Percy?" she asks with superbly-faked disinterest, and Thalia only just manages to suppress an eye-roll at the look Annabeth gives Percy when his attention is not on her.

"Yes, Percy, what is it?" Thalia mimics, suddenly aware that he's pulled her right up against him. "And for the love of Hercules get the hell _out _of my personal bubble."

"I'm taller, aren't I?" he asks Annabeth, and Thalia doesn't even bother trying to hide the eye-roll this time.

"Was it the fact that my face is smooshed against your chest that gave you a clue?" she says icily, making it quite clear that she is far too close to him for her liking.

"Yeah," Annabeth agrees, tucking her hands into her jacket pocket. "I'm afraid Percy is taller, Thalia."

"Well great," Thalia mutters, and then quickly twists her foot behind Percy's knee and has him face-down on the floor in a matter of seconds. "Shame that additional height hasn't given you additional brains, Jackson."

He pulls himself off the floor, dusts himself down and thanks Annabeth briefly before refocusing his attention on the Hunter in front of him.

"Well, I bet I can beat you in a sword-fight," he informs her, and the freckles on Thalia's nose scrunch up as her face cracks into a wicked grin.

"You're so on."

"Well, I've got better things to do with my evening than watch you two kill each other," Annabeth announces loudly, turning on her heel and stomping away with an exasperated sigh.

"Wow, that's unlike her," Percy comments as he watches her leave. Thalia just gives him a _look _and then quite unthinkingly grabs his hand to drag him to the practice grounds. His palm is warm and rough against hers, calluses from wielding a sword rubbing against her own pale skin.

He's Annabeth's, but that doesn't mean she's going to let go.

"Okay, Pinecone Face," he teases when they finally reach the beaten-down stretch of grass and she has managed to gather enough of her wits to let his hand drop from hers. "Bring it on."

With a sly smile she slides her sword from its sheath at her hip, and he watches the blade glimmer dimly in the moonlight with a faint expression of confusion on his face.

"What is it, Seaweed Brain? Have you never seen such a breath-takingly fine specimen of a sword before?"

He rolls his eyes. "No, I just … you never used to carry a sword. You were all about running with knives, remember?"

She laughs quite without meaning to, and her fingers flex around the hilt of her sword. "I detest swords for their general lack of finesse, but this one … I just couldn't let any old half-blood pick it up and start using it."

He leans closer suddenly, running his fingers up the blade gently, and she watches his face as understanding darkens his expression. He withdraws as his hair falls slightly into his eyes.

"Luke's sword?" he asks quietly, Riptide jumping into his hand as he pulls the cap off the pen. There is something divided in his expression, and she lifts her chin because she's always been about facing her problems head-on.

"Yes. The one he abandoned for that monstrosity, Backbiter."

"Thalia …" Percy says suddenly, hearing the slight hitch in her voice, and he reaches out to her. She raises her sword instantly because she absolutely will _not _cry, not here and especially not in front of him.

"Come on, little Wavemover. Are you _scared_?"

Looking like it's going against all his better judgements, Percy raises Ankhlusmos in response and his eyes meet hers through the mesh of their blades.

"You only knew him before," he says, as though he _understands_, "it's okay to … y'know … have feelings for him still."

She glares and starts channelling electricity into her sword. "Shut up, Jackson," she orders firmly. "You don't know shit about me."

He sighs but she can't quite deal with all the emotions battling around inside her, so she does the only thing that she knows and swings her blade at him. He raises Riptide to defend himself and as the blades meet all the electricity from her sword zaps straight through his and into his body.

"Gods, that's not fair!" he complains as soon as he's recovered, picking himself up off the floor. "No using your other powers."

She gives him an impish grin, tilting her head to one side. "What's the matter? Do your powers simply not measure up to mine?"

He doesn't reply, just turns his face skywards and in roughly three seconds it is raining so hard she can barely breathe. He moves closer, and she sees that, infuriatingly, he is completely dry.

"Ass," she mutters under her breath, blinking furiously to try and keep her vision.

"It's good to get drenched from time to time," he says, and she glares through the curtain of water between them. "It clears your brain."

"I don't want my brain cleared," she tells him angrily. "If my brain gets clear then things I don't want in there get in."

"Like Luke?" he asks quietly, and she wishes that the rain was louder so she could pretend she hadn't heard him.

She sighs. "I know it's stupid," she tells him honestly, and her sword falls from between her fingers and embeds itself point-down into the wet grass. "I know that it's pointless and hopeless but it's not like I can do anything about it."

"There's nothing?" he asks, and suddenly he is so close that she is enveloped in his little bubble of dryness. She blinks through soaked eyelashes, water trickling down over her freckles and cheekbones.

She shrugs. "I haven't tried much. I never really get time to try some weird dance or herbal remedy or something like that."

"We've got time now," he says, and she's completely sure she's imagining his breathlessness. "We could try something …"

And she's thinking along the lines of that tarantula dance when suddenly he's so close she can feel his body pressed right the way up against hers and without meaning to she's leaning up into him and their lips are meeting halfway, breath bursting from them in gasps as her hands fly up to tangle in his hair and his glide to her back to press her against him, his sword slipping soundlessly from his hand and landing on the soaked ground behind her.

And she's doing that silent-falling thing and she'll never let him (or anyone) know.

--

She wakes up the next morning in a low cabin with seashell walls and all her breath is robbed from her when she sees Percy lying next to her, totally relaxed in sleep, his arm still wrapped protectively around her waist.

She casts her eyes about and she sees her bow lying on the floor next to the bed, broken decisively in two.

"Gods, no!" she exclaims, and she scrambles for her clothes as quickly as she can, gathering up all evidence of her night with Percy into her arms and fleeing the Poseidon cabin as quickly as she can, bolting back to her father's cabin and slamming the door, sinking down against it as her things spill from her arms and make splashes of colour against the white marble floor.

She sprawls forwards, pressing her hot forehead against the cold marble, and throws her prayers up to the heavens.

_Father, I'm so sorry. Forgive me, please._

"I know why you did it," a voice says, and she whirls to find him standing there, gazing out over the camp, his lightening bolt crackling almost absently in his hand. "You are confused about Luke and tired of being part of a band because you have always been happier working alone. You weren't thinking."

She doesn't bother trying to reach out to him; she knows how futile that course of action would be.

"I'm so sorry," she says again, and then calls him something she has never dared to or wanted to before. "Please, daddy, tell me you forgive me."

He turns then, and comes and kneels before her. His fingers ghost on her chin, and she knows better than to question his sudden and unexpected willingness to be in physical contact with her. He raises her face, gently but firmly, and forces her to look him right in the eyes.

"There is nothing to forgive, my daughter. You must lead your own life and make your own mistakes. I shall not punish you for one night of rashness."

She feels like a small child again, quite unlike the forceful and independent teenager she is so used to being, and without knowing why she flings herself into his arms and settles into his embrace comfortably, clutching at the shirt he wears a little desperately.

He holds her for a minute, maybe less, and then gently but firmly distangles her.

"Thalia, understand this: I cannot come to you like this again. I can grant myself a dispensation once, because no-one can deny that you need me. But even I cannot make exceptions to the rule."

She nods and draws back, beginning to gather up her scattered belongings.

"But don't worry," he says as he begins to brighten. "No-one will know it was Perseus."

She almost falls down with gratitude, but instead bows her head and thinks of Annabeth and decides that there is nothing on Earth or Olympus that will ever persuade her to mention this night to anyone. She knows Percy isn't stupid – she'll tell him later to keep it a secret or expect a slow and painful death.

But now she's bone-wearily exhausted and she cannot think straight. She meanders over to her bed and collapses upon it, sighing mightily, and unbidden thoughts of Luke stray to her mind. But they do not hold the power they did yesterday, and so she pushes herself up and strides to the window and with an almighty heave she throws first her broken bow and then his old sword into the lake.

It sinks and disappears without a trace, and she turns back to the cabin and takes a deep breath. Life begins again.

--


End file.
